Riften Declares War On The High King
by Sephraem
Summary: Well...not really. But why are the denizens of Skyrim's Cesspool looking at their High King like they want to steal everything he has, beat the living crap out of him, or steal his life- or all the above? Even better, why is Ulfric in said cesspool alone? Any why is Nocturnal getting involved? This can't bode well for the Bear of Markarth, can it? (Title will probably change)
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't every day that had the High King of Skyrim wanting to go to Riften, the proverbial cesspool of Skyrim. But he wanted to... no, had to...no, _needed_ to go there. The man was all out of options except for this one.

Dark forest eyes peer around the small partially walled in city, and the man could understand why most people were put off by what they saw. To outsiders, it was rundown, dank and old; but for the people who lived here, it was home to good fishing waters, good drink and good people...for the most part.

"You better not be here in Riften looking for trouble. This isn't Windhelm, Your Majesty- we don't need _nor_ want your drama."

Ulfric looks to his left and sees a dark haired Nord in steel armor leaning against a support beam. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I've been looking for-"

"We know," Maul says to the blonde, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Nothing happens in Skyrim without Riften knowing about it, you of all people should know this by now. My question is why anyone here should care about the High King's problems? Problems that seemingly revolves around his inability to think before he opens his mouth?" The man pinches the bridge of his nose, then sighs. "Fine. Go to the Bee and Barb, someone will eventually get to you. A fair warning though- you might be waiting awhile. Not everyone is going to drop what their doing just because the almighty and self-sacrificing Ulfric Stormcloak wants an audience."

The Jarl-turned-rebellion-leader-turned-High-King knew a dismissal when he heard one, Talos only knew how many of those he's given since the end of the Civil War. He was a warrior, not a politician- subtlety and tact were not arts the Nord were good at- _that was her job_ , his conscience said simply to him. Ulfric gives the other man a slight nod of thanks, then goes to explore this place before heading to where he was instructed to go.

"So the Bear of Markarth finally woke up and made his way down here. It certainly took him long enough," a voice goes from behind Maul. "I'm surprised you weren't your usual colorful self when greeting the less-than-welcome people to our little hole of Skyrim."

"Personally I might not like the man for what he did, but he is the High King and I have to attempt to be polite. If you ask me, I think I did rather well, considering I wanted to bash his head in then turn him over to Ingun to test her new experimental potions on...The question is, Mallory, is it too little too late?"

A leather-clad Breton steps up to the Nord's side, contemplative topazes watching the man in question walk in the direction of the docks. "Honestly, I don't know. For both their sakes I hope not, but we always take care of our own. I'm sure there's more than enough women out there to heal his wounded heart if she rejects him outright and stays with who she's with now." The Guild and their connections across Skyrim already had done so, tightening their ranks around the woman who had not only for all of them saved their livelihood, but for some of them their very lives. "Chances are he checked the other Holds first, as well as spoke to the Companions in Jorrvaskr- I'm sure the Stormcloak was...warmly welcomed by that lot, and by warmly, I mean being threatened with a dunking in Grey-Mane's Skyforge."

"And which of your lot is going to be stuck dealing with the blonde haired idiot?"

A sadistic smile crosses the Sneak Trainer's face and Maven's right hand knew that he would be in for a rather interesting tale. "We had been prepared for the idiot's arrival since his coronation three years ago, knowing it would just be a matter of time before he'd need our...services, so to speak. After all, who better to track down a thief but another thief?

"Originally we had wanted to draw lots as to who would be the one that would get to deal with the Stormcloak, but when everyone associated with the Guild wanted that honor..."

"Everyone?"

"Oh yes. I know that both Ravyn and Vanryth traveled to Raven Rock and left offerings at the Shrine to Mephala. Vex and Sapphire were working with Herluin in his little niche in the Flagon. Niranye was willing to get whatever was needed safely within Windhelm's walls without the guards ever noticing. Even Glover was willing to return to Skyrim to lend a hand in showing the High King the error of his ways."

"I never would have thought your brother would consider coming back here."

"Our Guild Master is certainly something, isn't she- her dedication, her loyalty, even the times she's a mothering hen...it means something to all of us, makes us want to do our best, to make her proud. Mercer never inspired the Guild that way, and from what Karliah mentioned in passing, Gallus did, but never to this extent."

"If you have need of me, all you have to do is ask Mallory."

"And risk Maven's wrath? I think not."

"You'd be surprised. While Maven may not have lasted long as Jarl with the turning over of the Rift to the Imperials during the ceasefire of the Civil War so both sides could focus on Alduin, she remembers all too well that it was the Guild Master that allowed her to get Goldenglow under her thumb again and also removed the competition that was Honningbrew. Her allowing me to assist in this would be only a start in her repaying Inkeri for what she's done for the Black-Briars..." Maul pauses for a moment, then goes "You still haven't told me which one of you gets to deal with the High King."

"After much discussion, there was really only one person who loves Inkeri enough to make sure that the proper justice be served."

Black eyebrows lift slightly, then the thief-turned-bodyguard just laughs. "Talos help the High King then."


	2. Chapter 2

Nightingale Hall. It had been many months since the sanctuary had been stepped in by this member of Nocturnal's sworn trinity, despite promises to the contrary to return more often. It wasn't that the thief didn't want to, but between chasing down a traitor, the never ending struggle to get the Guild back on its feet and then everything with the Guild Master...

 _Inkeri..._

Brynjolf remembered when the blonde Nord made her first appearance in Riften, a little rough around the edges, but no different than himself or the others that called the corrupted spot home. Normally he would have simply attempted to seduce her into bed with him, but a strange niggling at the back of his mind told him the young woman offered more than just a few tumbles in the furs. His conscience once again proven correct, when, to his surprise, she had lifted the same silver amethyst ring from his pocket that he just pickpocketed off of some mage from Winterhold that was browsing the 'wares' he sold in the market. That was the first time anyone got the better of him, but it wouldn't be the last she stole from the ginger, knowingly or not.

In hindsight, the Nord male should have realized something was on the horizon when Mercer sent the newest member of their ragtag family to deal with Goldenglow, but when Keri came back relatively in one piece- _Relatively one piece? That infected dagger wound on her shoulder said otherwise!_ \- he figured it was just being overprotective of his protégée. Even stranger was when the Breton Guild Master was adamant at taking her with him to Snow Veil Sanctum to deal with Karliah, Brynjolf caving in to his superior's wishes when he wouldn't bend.

 _Pain_. That's all the ginger felt when Mercer came back alone, bloody and disheveled, saying that Karliah ambushed them, killing Inkeri and he barely making it out alive. Brynjolf wanted to head straight to Winterhold Hold and bring the Lass's body back, threat of Karliah or not, but by the time he finished everything he had to do and made it to Shor's Stone, a letter from Endon in Markarth told him that the blonde Nord was seen heading up into Understone Keep and not as dead as the rumor mill of the Guild would have her. _Confusion_ \- what was she doing there, why didn't she come home?

Everything he knew fell apart somewhat after that, things that he held as truth revealed to be nothing but smoke and mirrors. Not only was Mercer responsible for the murder of his predecessor, Gallus Desidenius, but somehow managed to steal everything the Thieves Guild had in their vault by stealing from a _Daedric Prince_ of all people... the same one he was on his way to summon now.

As Brynjolf walks down the dimly lit passage way and into the hall, his mind wanders back to the first time he and Keri came here- his concern about the terms, her wanting revenge for the attempt on her life. It was there his fantasies came to life as he got to see exactly what her armor hid from view: pale skin with a patchwork of scars, long legs he wouldn't mind burying his face in between, and _oh gods_ , what he wanted to do to her breasts as well as the rest of her. At this memory, the male thief groans, partially because if he had said something sooner things might have been different, partially because his pants just became tighter.

 _Inkeri..._

Then she had to go and get herself wrapped up in that blasted Civil War between the Stormcloaks and the Empire. Of course a number of them had reasons for their Guild Master not to go- Karliah because if she fell in battle it would mean replacing another Nightingale, Sapphire because she didn't want the number of women who called the Flagon home to dwindle, Delvin because he actually _liked_ Keri as their Guild Master (it didn't hurt that she was much more personable than her predecessor and spent time with members of the Guild), and Brynjolf...well, he should have told her the truth right then and there, instead of hiding behind the excuse of having important things to do. _What an idiot I was._

Inkeri was away from Riften for about a year, letters coming addressed to him through Niranye, their fence in Windhelm, as well as a good number of questionably gotten items, gems and gold to add to the Guild's coffers. Never once did she mention the budding relationship between herself and the Jarl of Eastmarch- perhaps it was to keep from hurting him, perhaps it was that she too had no idea where it would end up. Regardless, the day after his coronation as High King had Keri coming home to her Guild, never uttering a word no matter how hard he and the others tried, barely eating enough to get by, going through the motions day after day. How scared they were, not for their future, but for hers...

And so the people of Riften joined forces, rallying around their Thane, their Guild Master, their friend. Dropping hints into the right ears across Skyrim, knowing full well that the Stormcloak would eventually realize how much he screwed up, and when word reached the dwellers of the Flagon that he was on the move to find her, they would be ready... Of course, they weren't expecting it to take so long for him to seek out her Guild in the Rift, nor were they expecting her to go to Oblivion knows where either...

"I call upon you Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow... Hear my voice!"

A few moments pass before a flash of light appears before green eyes hidden beneath a hood. A female figure forms from the hovering dark blue ball of energy, which finally speaks after looking around the chamber.

"Ah, Brynjolf, Wolf of Riften. Long has it been since you've graced this Hall. Come seeking guidance, have you? Or perhaps it is my consent for something else?"

A hint of red graces the man's cheeks, thankfully hidden between the shadows of his headgear and the crimson hair of his beard. "I come seeking guidance, my Lady. A man has come to Riften, seeking information on if the Guild knows where your Favored is. The members of the Guild are... of varying different opinions on how to deal with this situation. While it was decided that I as the Guild Master's Second would speak with him, I ask for your counsel on what exactly to tell him, if I tell him anything at all."

The Mistress of Night and Darkness says nothing for a couple of minutes, but seems like an eternity to the ginger thief. Finally, his patron goes "Do you think him worthy to know?"

"That's not for me to decide," the thief responds, wanting to run his fingers through his hair due to nerves. Honestly, no, he didn't think the Stormcloak worthy- not worthy of her, not worthy of her love nor her touch. Not after what he did to her. _I refuse to lose her now that I have her. Because of his stupidity, the Guild almost lost her. It took months to get her close to her old self. Never again._

"Perhaps we should have Fate decide."

Verdant eyes look up at the Daedra, the confusion he felt evident in his gaze. "My Lady?"

"One of the items your Guild Master found when she came to return the Skeleton Key was a journal written by an adventurer by the name of Nystrom. It should be on a bookcase where she sleeps."

"You want him to walk the Path?"

"I want him to prove that he's worthy of my assistance in finding what he foolishly let go of. King or not, all luck flows from my realm. But there will be a price he will have to pay, as all men must do when dealing with us. What that price will be though, I am currently not sure," Nocturnal corrects her Nightingale quickly. "Was there anything else?"

"How is Keri?"

"She is being watched over, her task nearly complete."

Brynjolf's breath hitches at the thought of seeing her again before he could get it under control. Inwardly swearing, he quickly asks, "Will she be coming home then?"

"That...is out of my hands." The Daedra looks up at the thief who summoned her, an appraising look on her face. "Interesting... So much like Mercer, and yet... not... It seems you may have presented me with a solution I would not have considered, Brynjolf, one where everyone involved could possibly benefit from if presented properly. To show my gratitude, I shall grant you a boon- ask anything of me and if it is within my power, I shall grant it asking nothing in return. You need not tell me now, but you only get one, so remember to choose wisely." With that parting statement, the Daedric Prince vanishes.

 _I am absolutely_ _ **nothing**_ _like Mercer. Traitorous Bastard..._

 **I beg to differ.**

The man huffs at his conscience. _I at least haven't murdered my competition and placed blame on the ones closest to him, or the ones with obvious reasons for wanting him dead._

 **Yet. Every man has a breaking point, and thieves are no exception when it comes to the things they covet most. What will it take for you to find yours, I wonder? Or will your resolve be stronger than your more baser instincts?**

The thief shakes his head, then thinks back to what his Guild's Patron said in regards to her Champion. _Some information is better than none, no matter how cryptic it is- but that's what you get when dealing with the Daedric Princes. Best find this journal though so that the fun can really start._ Leather booted feet barely make a sound on the stone walk as Brynjolf starts heading back to Riften, hoping that the plethora of books his Lass owned are in some sort of order that this journal will be easily found.

* * *

A/N Well. This can not bode well for Ulfric now, can it? I feel bad for him...almost. And what exactly will Brynjolf do with this gift from Nocturnal? ...Truth be told, I don't know yet myself, I had started writing this months ago and only started cleaning it up and fleshing sections out. Guess we will find out together!

Comments and Constructive Criticism is welcome, but flames will be used to keep me warm- it's cold here in America!


	3. Chapter 3

Ulfric could still feel clandestine cold stares on him as he sat in the furthest corner of the Bee and Barb, silently drinking a tankard of mead and waiting for... well, he didn't know who was supposed to be coming, or when for that matter. Part of him just wanted to get up and leave, head back to Windhelm where at least he wouldn't feel like a shiv would be slipped in between his ribs the minute he closed his eyes. But he couldn't. The man was tired of running- of running from his mistakes, of running from what he wanted, of running from the truth. The Jarl-turned-King wasn't returning to Windhelm until he at least got an answer to his question.

Suddenly, anyone remotely looking at him averts their gaze as someone enters the inn. Emerald orbs glance over the rim of the tankard towards the doors and land on a male Nord in somewhat familiar black leathers, a small sack in his right hand. Eyes the same shade of his own, though framed with untamed red locks, peer around the room, stopping when they land on him and a cruel smirk breaks on his face that belonged more on a Thalmor interrogator than a fellow Nord. _Talos preserve us._

Silently the newcomer makes his way over to the High King and sits down unbidden. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, High King of Skyrim. I had heard of your habits of slumming with the regular people of your Hold from someone rather close to me, but this is a bit far out of your usual comfort zone," the ginger says to the blonde quietly, crossing one leather clad leg over the other as the bag gets placed in his lap.

"Some people will travel to the far reaches of Tamriel searching for what they want, especially if they crave it bad enough."

"And what could the Bear of Markarth find here that he couldn't find elsewhere, more specifically closer to home?"

"Information. Information that can only be gotten here, straight from the source, since inquiring elsewhere just led me around in circles and dead ends. It's something I should have done from the beginning, but perhaps I had to learn a few things first." Ulfric slowly sets his mead down on the table and goes to the other man point blank "Where is she?"

A bushy red eyebrow lifts just slightly. "The term _she_ is rather vague, Lad. If it's a woman you're lookin' for, I'm sure I could point you in the direction of one that will gladly keep you company before you make your way back to Windhelm, back to the throne that you wanted so much you didn't care who you used and destroyed to get it."

The Stormcloak leader's hand twitches slightly though the verbal blow hurt more than Ulfric would dare let on- he wouldn't give this man more to use against him than he already had. "I've heard of you. She spoke of you often, the one who would never use her name- the flirt, Brynjolf." A wolfish smirk is all the blonde gets in response and he sighs, "Inkeri. Where is she?"

"The Guild Master? What more would you want with her? You already broke her heart three years ago; how much more pain do you want to inflict on her now? Do you want to rip it out and feed it to a dragon now?" Sage orbs darken to near ebony in anger as the other Nord continues, emphatically pressing a finger into the abused tabletop. "Do you have any idea how broken Keri was when she came back here after your coronation? Can you even comprehend in that mind of yours how long those words you said to her stuck with her? That she was unimportant, not worthy of your time or affections now that you had your throne, your crown, your title? Just a fling, you called her, right? No better than the whores that followed the camps around during the Civil War... It took us four months to break her of the self-imposed silence, another two months to get her to start eating and sleeping properly again, and three months after that to convince her to start taking on jobs again. It took her another half a year to open her heart again to another person, to allow it to love, to see that she was and still is worth everything to someone. I'll not stand idly by while you attempt to stroll back into her life and destroy what her family and I worked so hard to rebuild!"

"I did not come here to hurt Inkeri, gods, that's the furthest thing from my mind at this point. If that was the case I wouldn't have scoured Skyrim the past two years looking for her."

Brynjolf snorts derisively, his disbelief evident. "If she meant _anything_ to you, you would have been pounding on the front door to Honeyside not two hours after you ended things with her and she left Windhelm. Instead, here you are a full three years later, expecting people to welcome you here with open arms and willing to give you the answers wanted. You know, I get criticized by a lot of people, being a Nord and a thief- that I'm not honorable, that I'm shaming my ancestors. But then I see people like you, and it's people like you, Ulfric Stormcloak, that makes me ashamed to be a Nord. The Khajiit merchant Ma'dran has more honor than you do. Your father must be rolling over in his grave at what you've done."

While it hurt Ulfric's pride (and his ego) at the mere idea that he was less honorable than a native of Elsweyr, inwardly the blonde knew the rather angry male was correct, especially in regards to his father. The ruler sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he silently asks Talos for strength to deal with the mess he landed himself in. "I... I would like to properly apologize to her. I know it's probably three years too late for one, but Inkeri deserves at least that and gods so much more. I wouldn't even attempt to justify my actions after my coronation, after we parted ways due to my ignorance- I couldn't justify them then to myself and others, and I know I cannot do that now. Then..." Dull jades look up from the table to meet glowing emeralds "I don't know...try to convince her to give me a second chance, but I feel that won't happen- I most certainly do not deserve one, not after how I acted. Frankly, at this point I would be happy with her accepting my apology and seeing if she'd allow a possible rebuilding of at least a friendship."

The thief's eyes get distant, his mind sending him back to the time when he had a similar conversation with the woman in question...

" **Lass, he's not worth wastin' precious thoughts on. The so-called High King made his bed, he can lay in it for all I care. Besides, your past with him didn't stop you from robbing the palace blind now, did it? So obviously Ulfric Bloody Stormcloak isn't as important to you as you think he is."**

" _It's not that, Bryn. It's the time I wasted, time I could have spent focusing on other things, other people...like you." Inkeri buries her head into Brynjolf's neck, taking comfort in the fact that the man beside her didn't judge her too harshly for dwelling on the past._

 **The ginger Nord brushes a few strands of flaxen hair from the side of her face and murmurs against her forehead** " **Do you really think it was wasted?"**

 _The young woman doesn't respond automatically and from that hesitancy Brynjolf knew the answer "_ _...No..."_

" **What is it that you want, Lass? From him, from me, from anyone?" He feels her stiffen in his arms, more from the fear of anything she says being used against her than fear of the question itself. "Keri, you know I'll never judge you Lass. What makes you think I'd leave you now after all we've been through?" The man chuckles softly, pressing his dry lips against her soft ones. "Besides, you're not only stuck with me alive, I get to follow you into the afterlife. You'll be so sick of me you'll be begging Nocturnal to send you elsewhere... Maybe even reincarnate you into a Khajiit so you really can get sent to Elsweyr."**

 _A strangled laugh escapes the distressed female, though whether it was from the bad joke or the thought of fleeing her afterlife obligations, Brynjolf couldn't tell. "Nothing so drastic, I think. What if our Patron gets frustrated with your antics first?" As quickly as the joy broke out across her face, it left, replaced with a pensive expression."What do I want from him though? An apology. And a reason, a real one- not something that he thinks I'll believe._

" _Do I still love him? I suppose some part of me does, though I'm not sure why- maybe it's just we never let go of that person we first truly love. Maybe it's the Gods and Daedra playing their games with me still; obviously they still need me for some reason or I wouldn't periodically get this feeling that something is coming." Here Inkeri huffs in exasperation, then continues "I dealt with Alduin, the Civil War is done- what more could that blasted lot want with me?"_

" **If I knew the answer to that, Lass, be assured I'd give it to you. Unfortunately, as you love to tell us, the Gods and Daedra play their music and we all dance willingly to the tune." Soft emeralds gaze down at brilliant sapphires and the older thief asks her "Would you give Ulfric another chance if he asked it of you?"**

" _Trying to get rid of me already are you?"_

 **Brynjolf snorted at the thought. "Far from it. Just planning in advance, Lass- research if you will. I need to know if I'm going to have to fight for you, because if it comes to it, I will."**

" _The great Brynjolf actually preparing for an unknown- I never thought I'd see this day." Thin fingers reach up and slip through the male's long ruby strands of hair as Inkeri continues, "I can't answer that question, not until if and when Ulfric rediscovers his long lost manhood and asks me that to my face. I do know that if that day does come, he's going to have to make more than a few concessions if he even thinks of asking for a second chance... Now," she goes, looking up at him "Enough talk about my former relationship with the High King and what-ifs. At this point I'm more concerned with the here and now, and right now, I think I want your mouth to be doing other things than talking. Don't you?"_

That was the last time he had been alone with Inkeri, curled up together on her bed in Honeyside, just days before she up and left to go to Nocturnal only knew where. The guild knew she was still alive- the sporadic messages over the months confirmed that, as well as what their patron said earlier today- but where she was and when she was coming back- if she was even coming back? No one knew.

Brynjolf scratches at his scruff covered cheek and, with a sigh, stands. "Hope you're up for a decent ride, Stormcloak. We don't know where the Lass is, but I've been unfortunately given the task to take you where you might be able to find out."

* * *

A/N: Sheesh, Bryn and Ulfric. Just whip em out and measure already. I can see the two of them going two out of three, no holds barred, winner gets gold, glory, and most importantly the girl.

Part of me originally wanted Ulfric to lose his shit in the middle of the Bee and Barb at the comparison to Ma'dran- nothing would be better than a good old fashion fight (ie, the fight between Thornton and Danaher at the end of The Quiet Man) and have it with the two men stumbling off into the sunset drunk, but considering it _is_ Riften, it would be a dirty fight and chances are someone would have ended up dead. Which I don't want...yet, anyways.

Onward to our next adventure!


	4. Chapter 4

As much as the Nightingale wanted to make his riding companion suffer some by taking him the long way to the Sepulcher, Bryn knew that the Bear of Markarth had an appointment with his Patron and did not wish to be at the receiving end of her ire if the ruler was tardy, no matter his personal feelings towards him. Through the mountains west of Riften the two men rode, past Orphan Rock, through the ruins of Helgen- the thief noticing the blonde staring at specific spot as they traveled among the destroyed buildings- and south of Lakeview Manor. Briefly, the ginger thought of checking on the homestead for Keri while in the area, but that could be done another time without the company. The unlikely pair travel south of Falkreath and take the right fork, and when they hit where the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary was rumored to be, turn left and head through the patches of trees.

Finally the silence is broken by the High King. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"Nothing coming out and attacking us." Taking the reins of his mount in one hand, Ulfric gestures around with the other. "No wolves, no bears, no trolls, not even a bandit. Nothing. It's almost as if our path was intentionally left clear."

A slight smile appears on the redhead's face. "The Lady provides for all of us in strange ways, even for someone like you, Stormcloak, unworthy as I think you are. But she can also take away if the whim takes her, especially in regards to those on the receiving end of her ire. Remember that." A few more minutes pass, then Brynjolf goes "Ah, we're here... _if_ I followed Keri's notes in her journal correctly, that is. For all I know, I could be sending you into a den of vampires or werewolves. Maybe even into the hands of the Thalmor- I'm sure they'd love to get their hands on you still and pay a good price for it. Ever think about that?"

"Or kill the both of us, because why bother paying when they can take it for free?" To be honest, no, he didn't think about that. So focused was he in trying to find Inkeri again, the High King didn't think of the dangers of traveling alone, especially with someone who openly despised him and would have no qualms in ending his life. _Galmar would have my head if he even learned of this folly..._ In the distance, Ulfric could see two lit braziers, one on either side of a doorway into the mountainside. At some point the clearing must have been beautiful, given by the remains of the stone pillars before the entrance, but now it was a bit plain. _Maybe that's the idea_ , the blonde Nord thinks as he dismounts from his horse. "Where are we?"

"Twilight Sepulcher. The Pilgrim's Path."

"The what? Why are we here? Who are we supposedly meeting?"

"It was either here or a different location... And the person that desires to speak with you might have specified here- and I dare not question Her wants.. Besides, if the Keri made it through to the end alive and thereby proving herself worthy above all others, I'm sure you'll have no problems... after all, who would dare accomplish something the High King has not, hmm?" Brynjolf goes, opening the door and letting the other man step through first.

"Your confidence overwhelms me, thief," Ulfric growls out as he steps through, getting a little more than slightly bothered by the attacks on his character. _Which are rather true, but that's besides the point._ "I wouldn't be walking somewhere blind, alone save a criminal who has no qualms of pouring salt onto wounds that never healed and obviously has his own issues with his self-confidence if he's worried his Guild Master will leave him for a former lover, if I didn't want to find her."

"Wanting to and actually being able to do it are two very different things. Just remember that, if you somehow make it to the end, you're not a Jarl, you're not the High King- you're just a mortal man asking for help from someone that would have no problem wiping you from Tamriel without a thought."

Soldier and Rogue make their way through the rest of the lit tunnel in silence until they come to an expansive cavern, a staircase leading upwards to a large, closed door.

"Ah, I see why I was sent back..."

Two pairs of forest eyes turn towards the sound and see a shade of a man dressed in similar garb to what the living thief was wearing, the set of the ginger Nord widening slightly as he figures out who the ghost was.

"Gallus? The Lass said you moved on when she came to right Mercer's wrongs. What are you doing here?"

"You've certainly grown since the last time I saw you, Brynjolf. Our Lady decided that one of us should be present to make sure the outsider knew what would be expected of him."

"Upwards, thankfully, and not outwards. As the Lass likes to remind us when we try to get her to eat more: A fat thief is a caught and most likely dead thief. She certainly wants to make sure we are all happy and make it back from our jobs alive." A black covered hand holds up the beat up bag that the man in question had carried into the Bee and Barb earlier. "I think I have most of it covered, Guild Master," the redhead murmurs quietly, and, dare Ulfric think, almost respectfully.

"Ah, you _did_ do the thing properly. The Lady's Champion did well in choosing you, despite all of your mistakes and flaws."

"Luck smiled favorably on me that day, I will admit... My current Guild Master is as wise as she is benevolent and forgiving. I do listen when she talks...most of the time I do as she recommends even..." Bryn gives the shade a wry smile, then turns towards Ulfric and holds the sack out to him, saying "Should be enough to get you through this if you're as smart as people claim. It's about what the Guild Master herself had when she walked the Path."

Rough hands take the canvas satchel and peers in it, seeing a piece of parchment, some lockpicks and two healing potions. "Talk about traveling light," the High King muses, pulling the paper free. He reads:

" _ **Shadows of their former selves, sentinels of the dark. They wander ever more and deal swift death to defilers."**_

" _ **Above all they stand, vigilance everlasting. Beholden to the murk yet contentious of the glow."**_

" _ **Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried."**_

" _ **Direct and yet indirect. The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish."**_

" _ **The journey is complete, the Empress's embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion."**_

"Cryptic." Dark eyebrows furrow as Ulfric reads the parchment a second time. "These almost seem to be the ramblings of a madman."

"Madness doesn't always equate to being wrong, Lad. If interpreted properly, the ramblings of a madman can give wise advice." The living Nightingale's shoulders shrug noncommittally and he goes with a seemingly understanding look "If you want to give up and tuck your tail between your legs..."

"No." _For Inkeri. No matter how scared. For her. Always for her. Nothing else matters, not anymore._

Both alive and dead thief watch as the man in blue takes a deep breath and walks up the stairs, passing through the door.

"Think he'll survive?"

"Personally? No. But..." The spirit looks at the shutting portal, a contemplative expression hidden behind his mask. "Even we who have passed on to the Evergloam aren't always privy to what Nocturnal plans on doing. I can only imagine, if he manages to make it through in relatively one piece, what sort of contract our Lady will put before him in order to get what she wants."

"I don't think the High King realizes just who he is dealing with, but he'll learn soon enough...they always do." _I won't give Keri up, Stormcloak, no matter how sorry you are. It will be a cold day in Hammerfell before I step aside for someone like you, so be prepared to fight harder than you did for your Empire against the elves, harder than you did for your precious throne..._

* * *

A/N: ...And how are you _nothing_ like Mercer, Brynjolf, you covetous bastard.

The next chapter will be undergoing a heavy rewrite, mainly because I don't like how I've written it...that and I haven't finished it. Damned Daedra haven't given me any inspiration for it as of late.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_By the Nine, I'm a soldier, not a sneak. There's no way I can get from here to the exit without those shades noticing me!_

Evergreen eyes watch from the open door as spirits move about the room in seemingly random directions. It would be much easier, the man figured, to go in and fight the ghosts- but that apparently was not the reason for this path it seems. Ulfric's gaze looks for something- _anything!_ \- that might give him some sort of advantage over this damnable situation. He finally spies a rather innocuous looking potion on a table in a room off to his right.

The color of the liquid in the bottle brings forth a memory for the ruler- a memory from a time when he was just the Jarl of Eastmarch leading his army in the fight to free Skyrim from the Empire and their Thalmor puppet masters...

* * *

" _Heavy armor does nothing in the ways of being stealthy, my Jarl, I've told you this before. What your men say regarding the Legion and their plated armor is true: they gleam like fresh fallen snow and clank like a kitchen. It also slows you down and has a very bad habit of being noisy at the worst possible time."_

 _Long fingers hold up a corked round vessel filled with white liquid that they had just bottled. "Even with something like this invisibility potion wouldn't be able to help if you or any of your officers were to try and maneuver around the Legion in your preferred gear." As the woman sets the potion back on the table, she continues the impromptu lesson. But, I know you'll never give up your armor up as it has never let you down, so unless you plan on taking it all off and carrying the pieces, the only advice I can give you is to move slowly and be aware of where you step... Or, you can forgo the sneaking altogether and just kill what is in your way, because chances are you'll end up having to do that anyway. Besides, you are too honorable to do things my way- leave the more questionable habits to those of my ilk, because in the end what is one more person looking down on a sneakthief?"_

" **Perhaps, should we survive to the end of the war, you and I can continue this discussion on the benefits of light armor? Surely you can agree that one is never too old to pick up a new skill or two?"**

 _A flaxen eyebrow arches slightly over a skeptical cobalt orb- clearly the thief was not such a request from someone such as him. "Perhaps, if those who hold our fates in their hands wish it, my Jarl. Though, I will admit, the thought of teaching someone as stubborn as you will be a challenge- and I_ _ **never**_ _back down from a challenge."_

* * *

Little did the Stormcloak know at the time, but that conversation would be the cornerstone for what not only would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but the start of the end- the end of the war, the end of Skyrim being under the yoke of the Empire, the end of the Thalmor's interference in affairs not their own. It was also another beginning- the beginning of something wonderful. _And then you had to go and muck it up._

"I sense a presence..."

 _Damn it straight to Oblivion. Not the time to dwell on the past old man!_ The High King comes back to himself and the now just in time to dodge a shade's blade and quickly whips out his own. "This should be fun!"

Thirty minutes and a good number of cuts and bruises later, three piles of ghostly remains lay around the room. Ulfric leans against a stone wall, struggling to catch his breath. Old clearly didn't sum up how he felt right now- he had gotten lazy since the end of the war, that much was evident, not having the time to keep himself in shape. _That is going to change once I receive my answer. If I get this tired after fighting three spirits, what will my body be telling me after a fight with one living person?_ "Is this what she had to deal with? Could it even be worse?" the man wonders aloud as his spits some blood out of his mouth. _Of course it can, don't tempt fate._ As he moves on through the rooms with his sword still unsheathed, the rebellion leader uses his other hand to pull out the parchment that Brynjolf had left him just before a closed portal.

" _ **Above all they stand, vigilance everlasting. Beholden to the murk yet contentious of the glow."**_ _What in the name of Talos does that mean..._ The confused man opens the door, blinking at what he saw as well as didn't see. _Oh._ A vast room lay before him, a mix of brightness and shadows. Not thinking of the clue written on the parchment, Ulfric takes a step into the light, only to jerk back with a grunt. Biting back a swear, he looks down at his hand and blisters forming on the dry, rough skin. _Well, that explains so much. I'm beginning to wonder if that blasted thief set this all up to get me killed._

 **Or maybe you're thinking with the wrong mindset. You're thinking like a person who fights in the open, not one who hunts from the shadows** , the Nord's conscience goes reprovingly. **It shows you either weren't listening to a damned thing Inkeri told you years ago, or your mind is like a sieve. A thief's worst enemy is a well lit area- it can lead to capture, jail time, or even death. What sneak would willingly walk into the light?** The ruler huffs at the voice in his head, which oddly sounded like Galmar, then sheaths his sword and begins to move, listening for anything that might jump out at him all while trying to mind his steps. _Let's not tell my Housecarl that my inner voice sounds like him- he'll gloat about it for days and never let me live it down._

" _Traps are every person's nightmare, and the amount of triggers used for them are baffling to say the least. The good thing is, my Jarl, is that with time, patience, and a little bit of luck, most of them can be avoided or used against the people who might have set them to begin with. Just keep in mind that dart traps, while seemingly harmless, can end up being deadly if the tips are coated in a long lasting poison."_

Another random conversation snippet comes back to him and the man sighs softly, continuing his way through the room. _What I wouldn't give to have her here. To have her support for so long, only to lose it because of my stupidity. What's the leader of the Stormcloaks without his Stormblade at his side?_ He was stupid back then, telling Inkeri that from that point on Skyrim was his priority and he couldn't afford to focus on anything else but that. Strangely- or maybe not, in hindsight- the woman didn't shed a tear. Sure, in the past she cursed him more than once and may or may not have tried to shout him off a wall in Windhelm when he tried to keep her from the battle at Whiterun, but never once did he ever see her cry in the time he knew her... **Maybe you didn't deserve to see it.**

* * *

Eventually, the seeking man makes it to the next room, coming before a statue of Nocturnal. Green eyes look down at the dead body of the bandit before it and Ulfric could only wonder what was the cause of death- a wound or perhaps the wrong offering? He pulls out the parchment again and reads the next hint. " _ **Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried."**_

" **Dii Vahdin, tell me of Nocturnal?"**

" _You mean you never learned of her?" A teasing voice goes._

" **From your perspective."**

" _Very well, Dii Bronjun. I suppose I can humor you, though I can't understand why you would need to know of such things." The woman in Ulfric's arms looks up at him, sliding easily into what he called her instruction role. "She is the Night Mistress, the Mother of Night. As another member of the Guild once told me, she is 'like a scolding mother who pushes her child to do better.' and shows that she's not like the other Princes of Oblivion. She is the source of our luck, which flows from her plane of Evergloam. It plays a role in all of our lives, not just thieves...and the majority of Nirn doesn't know the cost paid to keep that luck mostly favorable."_

" **Price?"**

 _A nod, followed by "Everything in life comes with a price- a sacrifice. This war will come with a price for all of us. Some, it will be death on the battlefield. Others, it could be executions. And for some, emptiness and the wish to die."_

" **Surely it cannot be all that bad?"**

" _For the people of Skyrim, time will heal the wounds left by the war, whether they support you or they support Elisif. They've made enough sacrifices. Others will have to sacrifice for the future."_

" **Which are you?"**

" _I'm a tool for Gods and Daedra- they play music and I willingly dance to their tunes, and I accept that I will sacrifice much for the people of Skyrim. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the time will come where I too will have do so."_

 **Blonde eyebrows furrow and the man leans over, pressing goatee framed lips to her mouth. "You'll never lose me. I swear to Talos, Inkeri Snow-Hammer, that I will stand with you today, tomorrow and long after we're brought to Sovngarde. And believe me, nothing is going to stop me from making sure we end up together in the afterlife."**

How could he have forgotten, that promise he swore over three years ago to a woman who meant more to him than the crown she helped find, the throne that was now his, the title now bore. A promise broken because of his stupid claim that the Kingdom was what was the most important, that the... **fling** , his conscience so wonderfully reminded him, was no longer necessary, that all that mattered was the people and bringing Skyrim back to the days of its former glory.

She didn't shed a tear- in the time Ulfric knew the woman now known to him as Inkeri Stormblade, never once did he see her cry from rage, from pain, from anything. Even when present to mourn for her fellow soldiers that fell in battle, she understood that they were in Sovngarde and in a supposedly better place. _How Alduin ruined that hope for so many..._ She didn't cry, didn't scream, didn't yell or try to convince him otherwise. She didn't even use a shout on him- it was if she expected and accepted this fate. All the straw haired Nord did was give him a sad smile and said one sentence to him:

" _ **Dii Zahrahmiik Fah Dii Muz."**_

And then she disappeared into the Windhelm night, out into the raging blizzard with nothing but what she wore the first day entering the palace and the gear she had acquired during her time with the Stormcloaks- her original Stormcloak cuirass, a simple Imperial officer's sword, a shield, armor for a Stormcloak officer, his own sword- the sword he used to kill Rikke and Inkeri herself to kill Tullius. Ulfric couldn't help but wonder if she kept any or all of it.

Coming back to the present, the High King looked again at the room and mutters "Offer what she desires most..." It was then he saw it- a slight glint of metal to the left of one of the sconces. As the man moves closer, emerald eyes fall on a chain. _Could it really be that simple?_ A gauntlet covered wrist reaches forward, rough fingers wrapping around the cool iron. A pull, and the room dims, a sconce extinguishing. A sigh escapes him _It is._ Checking the sconce on the right reveals another chain, another tug, the room darkens and a hidden door sliding down and open.

Another room, this one with two exits. One had swinging axes the other was a locked gate. He pulls out the now worn parchment out and peers at the next hint. " _ **Direct and yet indirect. The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish."**_

Unfortunately, the former Jarl of Windhelm had no memories of watching Inkeri tinker with locks, nor did he ever broach the subject with her- what Jarl would have need of learning how to do that? On the other hand, the man did not want to test his aging body against that hallway. _Talos... Inkeri, what do I do? I came this far to find out where you are. I can't go forward, but I refuse to go back._ Eyes darken as they look at the trapped path, the axes swinging back and forth, counting the time between each pass. The answer was clear. _For her._ He had never learned anything at High Hrothgar except for two shouts, Unrelenting Force and Disarm, for the lure of defending his home too great to keep learning. S _o taking it slow is the answer. Definitely not what I'm used to._

His mind counts the time in between passes, and eventually he steps between the first two axes, trying not to flinch as the blades swing dangerously close to his body in the tight space. Another count, another step- not quick enough, the axe nicking his right arm deep enough for decent blood flow and causing him to swear. _Clear. Never again. I hope I don't have to return to the entrance the way I came in..._ The man opens the door before him and hits the ground just as a battering ram swings into where his head was moments ago. _I swear, if I make it through this, if I find her, I will...politely beg her to at least give me some instruction in the art of lockpicking. I'm getting too old for this._ Coming to a door to his west, he opens it, not really keen on wanting to explore more.

His booted feet eventually bring him to what seems like a bottomless pit, Ulfric's mind flashing back to the last hint on the list: _**The journey is complete, the Empress's embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion.**_ "Not sure if eternal devotion is what will be given, but..." The armored man takes a deep breath and steps over the edge. It was if time slowed to a crawl during his descent, the shadows looming and growing darker, threatening to engulf and suck the life out of him. Things flashed in front of him- images of his past, events of now, things that might or might not be for the future, and for the first time since being held by the Thalmor, the Nord was not sure if he was making it out of this place alive.

* * *

A/N: Finally, I get this to a point where I'm relatively happy with how it looks. This isn't my original end point for it, but I figured the rest could be the next chapter.

A few things first. Regarding Inkeri's comment about the Officers and their preference for heavy armor- I know the Stormcloak Officer Armor is listed as Light Armor, but Ulfric and Galmar are both listed as being proficient in Heavy Armor. Ysarald has no armor preference, and I'm not sure of the other officers scattered around Skyrim. If anyone reading this story can point me towards what is correct, please do so that I can fix it. I do like getting as close to lore as possible... I do also think that the more important members of Ulfric's rebellion, for example Galmar, would be a bit more protected than say Ralof. Not that Ralof isn't important, just _not as_ important.

Next. I seem to have inadvertently kept in the habit of once or twice having Ulfric and my character slipping into addressing the other in Dovahzul. I use it a lot in one story I'm still debating on throwing up here- it starts in it innocently but now it seems to have become a bad habit... Though, I will admit, the thought of the two of them having a fight in the main hall in the Palace of the Kings would be an interesting scene... It's a thought. But I will not abuse it here. Here's the translations though for the three times I use it here, taken from the dictionary and translator at :

Dii Vahdin: My Lady

Dii Bronjun: My Jarl

Dii Zahrahmiik Fah Dii Muz: My Sacrifice For My People

I'm looking forward to the next chapter and the challenge of what it's going to give me while it's being written. We all know what's coming, but Ulfric certainly does not- I wonder how he'll handle going toe to toe with a rather angry Daedric Prince? Lets see where my fingers and brain take us, shall we?


End file.
